Platonic
by Joermunganda
Summary: [Platonic love between men -friendship -platonic kissing&cuddling -fluff -caring -smoking -NO smut -NO romance -Greg&John&Sherlock] Greg knows that Sherlock and John aren't a pair in 'that' sense, but he realises how close they are and how intimate, without sexuality, a friendship really can be. And that he's allowed to be part of it.
1. Chapter 1

John, was tired. Sherlock had kept him up all night with his 'I-am-bored' violine 'playing', then a doubleshift at the emergency surgery, he walked home all the way from there since no bloody cabby seemed in the mood to earn opening the door to his and Sherlock's flat with a dramatic huff, he halted.

"Oh god, no. Sherlock!"  
"What is it John?"  
"If you deem it _that_ necessary to smoke can't you atleast do it when I'm not about to get home?!"

Hearing a huff from the sofa he got rid of his coat and shoes, pulled off his jumper revealing a tight black t-shirt and dragged himself into Sherlock's direction.  
The lights were off, exept for the warm orange hue from the fireplace and the light pollution of London through the windows.  
The Detective looked at him as relaxed as he will only be when smoking, sitting on the floor infront of the sofa, elbows leaning onto the seat, the silk shirt was unbuttoned and a burning cigaret between his teeth.

"You were supposed to be back eight hours ago." John sighted again and dropped to the floor next to the Detective, gracelessly.  
"I know. Franklin had a car crash, took his shift. Now give me those cigaretts."

Quickly Sherlock snatched the packet off the sofa with a death grip, "No. You're just putting them away _again_!"  
Only a moment later the two were at a staredown, when John held out his hand expectantly.

"Give me on, no make that two, and a lighter, and move that ashtray here you greedy git."  
Sherlock's jaw dropped for a moment, "What?!"  
"Oh come on, you annoyed me for days, kept me up all night torturing your poor Stradivarius, then a doubleshift and now I'm supposed to withstand cigs! What do you think I am, a Saint?!"

This takes too long, John decided as Sherlock stared at him as if it was an April's Fool joke that still has to be revealed, and lunged at the detective, immobilizing him by staddling his lap, snatched the packet and quickly put one cigaret behind his ear and another between his lips, throwing the pack onto the table without any elegance at all, turnig around and leaning on Sherlock's chest and abdomen.

A moment later fresh smoke dissolved into the air and John sighted with delight, sinking back and feeling his muscles relax against his best friend. "Finally..."  
Sherlock laughed at his doctor who, in the past, had berated him repetitive how bad smoking is.

"That's why I'm not allowed to smoke. You quit but can't withstand it at all." he hummed.  
"_YES_ exactly! Now do shut up I'm trying to enjoy my relapse of poisioning myself, Sherlock." John snapped at him, but smiled anyway, "You're so much nicer when there's Nicotin."  
He chuckled and placed the ashtray, the one from the Palace, next to them.

They didn't talk as they watched the fire crackle, Sherlock leaned to the sofa, bare chest to clothed back with John who sat between his legs, fingertips caressing the thick scar from the shot on his shoulder through the shirt.

Smoking in silence, the two enjoyed the calm and John had just lighted the second cigaret when they heared hurried footsteps on the stairs.

"Greg." they groaned synchronal, not moving at all as the door swung open.  
"Sherlock, why don't you answer your ph- For god's sake, John will kill you." Lestrade groaned as he smelled the smoke and rounded the sofa.  
"Hi Greg." they both saied and grinned unison.  
"John?!", he gasped, freezing, taking in their position and feeling a blush creep up his neck. They looked so intimate..  
"Yes, I couldn't bear it any longer. Sorry. You are the last one left to save our dignity!" the doctor cheered and threw his arms up in a dramatic gesture.  
"Hell no. Peer pressure! Hand one over." was the grinning DI's retort as he took off his jacket and pushed his sleeves up over the elbows.

John just smiled and threw the red pack at Lestrade who caught it and instantly fell onto the sofa, lighted a cig and took a deep drag.  
Then he looked at the two next to him on the floor again, Sherlocks skin gleamed in the firelight, and blushed at his thought, "I envy you two."  
Sherlock laughted and John looked at him irritated, "No, we're not together. Platonic!"  
Greg smiled, "I know. That's why it is special."

The deep baritone of Sherlock hummed and suddenly John had turned half around and grabbed Lestrade's arm, pulling him until he gave in and let himself get positioned between John's legs.  
It felt weird when hands pulled his shoulders back until they, and his back, were flush against a well muscled chest. John, he noticed, wasn't as soft as he looked, the jumpers hid it well.  
John rested his right hand against Greg's shoulder, he could feel how tense the man was, the elevated pulse and the blush that was almost hidden by the fire.  
It took a minute until the shoulders smoothed down, until Greg leaned into him and relaxed.

When his cigared died out Greg dropped it into the ashtray, leaning his head back as he pushed the bridge of his nose and eyes against John's firm neck, felt the slightly scratchy stubble at his forehead and sighted.  
Damn this felt good, and warm, and comfortable, and .. safe.  
Before he knew what he did he placed a kiss, maybe two, onto the tanned skin and slowly got lulled into a dreamless sleep by the crackling fire, the soft breaths, the steady heartbeat against his back and and the smell of cinnamon, coffee and tobacco, the smell of John.


	2. Chapter 2

It was cold. No, only his feet are freezing.

Hands and face pressed against a warm, firm body.

Where...?

Oh.

Baker street. He wanted to check on Sherlock, found him and, unbelievably, the Doctor smoking on the floor and cuddling!

And then John had pulled him into his lap where he fell asleep.

Oh god, he had kissed John's neck. Had he kissed John's neck? Yes he kissed John's neck, no denying it.

Idly he opened his eyes and took in his surrounding, and barely stifled a laugh.

They still lay on the floor, John's shoulders barely leaning on the sofa, in a position between lying and sitting, and Sherlock had his head on John's belly, arms lazily draped around John's hips, forehead leaned against Greg's chest, who was on the right side, face still on John's neck one arm slung around Sherlock's shoulders.

Short: one big, clingy, cuddly heap

It took him a while to realise that he probably should check the time, work would start at 6:30, yesterday had been late. Nah. There's nothing really important, just some paperwork, no investigations, no murders and if, they could call him on his mobile. They always did, at the most inhuman , if Donovan found only one of them like that. The face she would make would be-

A hand raking through his hair made his thoughts stop in their tracks, and a small sight escape his lungs. When was the last time somebody touched him just for touching's sake?

Must be at least a decade. His future-ex-wife had stopped doing so a long time ago.

Greg scrunched up his face. How did he manage to get from one annoying thing (work) to the most annoying thing (wife) in a nice place like this?! No. This has to stop. No more thinking.

But knowing the time would be helpful.

"John?" he breathed as quietly as he could, inevitably blushing when his damp lips clung the other mans skin. The hand in his hair had stopped for a moment, "Time?"

"Almost six." the Doctor answered quietly, the words were more audible from the chest than from the air. Damn, as stupid as it was, he, honest to god, really didn't want to leave.

"Got to go."

An answering 'Hmm.'

Nobody moves.

With a sigh the Detective Inspector slid away from the Doctor, got up carefully stretching his muscles.

Then checking his mobile -no new messages- and looked down to John and Sherlock, the first looked up, the second was dead to the world.

They held the eye contact for a while, and suddenly John looked away.

"If you, you know, care for another smoke feel free to come over."

Smoke, sure. They both knew that it wasn't remotely about cigarets.

"If you'll have me."

The wide smile that was thrown to him answered for itself, so Greg made his way outside, into the rain, to the grey desk at work.

Away from a catlike detective, and from the fair Doctor and, what was it?

Cinnamon, coffee and tobacco.


End file.
